been told about.
But, what about seizures that go unwitnessed? Those moments are gone forever. They can’t be recovered. Those moments of my life have died and been cremated in the synaptic fire racing through my brain. I have many of those little deaths in my history; instances where I simply have to guess what happened, to deduce from the clues around me that I have had a seizure.
Somehow, those moments are worse than the ones where I am on display. At least, when someone is present they are able to testify to my experience, to validate my fear at leaving the house alone or spending extended periods by myself. At least then no one looks at me like I’m a coward, their derision coating their face like icing though they try to hide it. They try to act as if they understand what it is to live with a body that can’t be counted on.
Marcus didn’t understand. He even accused me of deliberately inducing them, but he learned. He can’t say I didn’t warn him.
That particular evening had been uneventful. I’d gone to sleep at my usual morning-person hour of 10:30 p.m. as opposed to his night-owlish 3 a.m. only to wake up feeling a little off. There are moments as an epileptic where you hit a cross-roads, a moment of knowing that translates as fog, as a cloud crowning your brain. In these moments, you have a split second of control over whether or not a seizure occurs, but that’s it … a split second. If you miss that moment, you’re done for.
I called out to him, his side of our marital bed was still empty, but he didn’t hear me. Calling out to him was always dicey because he tended to think I wanted to be babied or am taking advantage of his sympathies, but I was nervous about getting up and traversing the house. He didn’t hear me over the re-run of Family Guy. I headed into the hallway to go find him, but I didn’t make it.
When I came to, he was leaning over me, so was the dog. He was speaking to me. I guessed what had happened simply from the usual déjà vu that came with the reboot of my brain. But, I didn’t know any facts. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying. This stranger who was stroking my face so tenderly, tears running down his cheeks as he spoke a name I didn’t recognize, in a language that made no sense with an unfamiliar voice.
I recognized the dog before I recognized him. My Pitbull, Rex, stood over his shoulder; a black and white sentinel against oblivion. He was my cornerstone. Rex was always there when I regained consciousness; a canine witness who stood in testament, but unable to answer my questions when we were alone against the tide.
Finally, I came back to myself fully, or as fully as one can after a tornado storm of electricity short-circuits their brain. Marcus, my husband of three years, stroked my face and whispered my name. He wiped the tears I couldn’t yet feel from my cheeks and told me it would be okay until the EMTs showed up and carried me out of my home, against my will, to the hospital.
I didn’t understand at the time why he’d called them, but I was too weak to resist. I’d never been to the hospital after a seizure before. It seemed a pointless waste of money. In the twenty-four years that I’d been having seizures, I’d never been able to produce one for a medical professional. My seizures were like that mysterious knocking your car makes that disappears as suddenly as it came on the instant you take it to the mechanic. I expected this time to be no different, but this was Marcus’ first experience. He couldn’t yet know that.
I arrived at the hospital ahead of him. The nurses efficiently hooked me up to tubes and monitors and questioned me pointlessly. I couldn’t tell them anything. I didn’t know what had happened. Of course, I knew I’d had a seizure, but that isn’t what they wanted to know. They wanted the gory details, just like I did.
Marcus arrived bringing life and vitality with him. He was the antithesis of everything within that hospital, including me. His honey skin glowed and his black eyes glittered, even his hair seemed to bounce with a vigor that overwhelmed me in my ghostly-pallored listlessness. He rushed to my side grabbing my hand too hard bringing it to his lips.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” my voice was hoarse from the violent regurgitation that always followed seizures. “What happened? They … I … we need to know.”
His sunny skin paled to a cloudy grey and he looked at the nurse with pleading eyes.
“We do need as many details as you can provide, sir,” her starchy attitude matched her crisp scrubs and purposeful demeanor. She wasn’t unkind, just unbending.
“Okay,” he moved away from me, dropping my hand and shoving his into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned his lanky frame against the counter that ran along the wall of my curtained cubicle. For long moments he paused until he finally began to recount the events in an expressionless tone. He could have been a newscaster with a teleprompter for all the emotion he showed.
“Our dog went running up stairs and began to bark. It was the dog that drew my attention because I didn’t actually hear her fall, I was watching TV downstairs. When I got upstairs, I found him hovering over her. He wouldn’t let me near her at first. She was laying on her side half in the bedroom, half out into the hall. I’m not sure if she hit her head or not.” Marcus drew in a deep breath before continuing in a rush.
“I got the dog to back down and when I could finally get to her, she had her eyes open and staring. Her teeth. They were clenched, but she was making a humming noise. And then. Well, she turned blue and she stopped breathing. And, I wasn’t sure if I should try CPR or what because I’m not trained and I’ve heard you can injure someone if you don’t know what you’re doing. But, I got lucky, I guess because she kicked back in and started breathing again. Then I called 911.” He seemed to deflate with that last word.
“How long was she out?”
“About a minute to a minute and a half.”
“Anything else you can tell us?”
Still not meeting my eyes, Marcus shook his head. The nurse nodded briskly and adjusted my saline drip before gathering up her supplies to leave. The hydrating fluid bored into my veins in icy relief.
“Okay, dear, we’ll get you out of here in about an hour if everything comes back to normal.”
Pushing up on my elbow I croaked, “I need to use the restroom.”
Marcus stepped forward and helped me stand. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
“Just down the hall to the left,” the nurse unhooked me and pointed out a door just a few feet away.
I hobbled slowly, my balance was never good after a seizure, until I reached the door.
“I’ll wait for you.”
Not looking at him, I just nodded and went inside. As I stood at the sink, washing my hands. I felt it. The air around me changed and became acrid. I screamed for Marcus as the ground shifted and I lunged for the door, bruising my knees as I fell. When I came to this time, several nurses were standing over me. Marcus wasn’t there.
They helped me back to my bed and Marcus came rushing over.
“What happened?”
“She seized again. We’ll be admitting her.” The nurse efficiently shot my IV up with Dilantin this time to prevent another seizure.
“Are you okay?” Marcus took my hand.
“Yes,” I smiled as best I could considering it felt like I had an elephant sitting on me. “Hey, at least this time no one can say it’s all in my head.”
He didn’t laugh.
A short while later I was moved to a private room. The next day was spent in a blur of tests and sleep with moments of profound wakefulness as Marcus and I got to know each other in a way we hadn’t ever known one another.
Without the distractions of work and family and day-to-day living we talked. The aftermath of a seizure leaves me very vulnerable and unguarded and I found myself talking to him about things I’d never admitted to him before. I’d never felt closer to him.
The morning of my discharge, I woke before him. He’d slept next to me in the too small hospital bed, but his warmth was comforting. He was so peaceful in his sleep. The sun slanting in through the blinds shone on his skin and he seemed
to glow with the beauty I remembered well from our early days.
The nurse came in to check my vital signs, waking him. I touched his cheek and smiled.
“Hey, there.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“We’ll be getting out of here soon.”
“Good,” he looked around a wistful expression on his face.
“What’s that look for?”
“In some ways I’m going to miss this place.”
“Really, why?”
“Because for this time it was just us. I feel like I finally connected with you.”
“Me too,” I took his hand and squeezed it.
“But, I think we both know we can’t stay here.” He gazed into my eyes and the warmth in them startled me.
“No, we can’t.”
“What now?” He sat up.
Reaching out, I stroked his face, “Now, we leave here and then I guess we go our separate ways.” His lips are soft and warm as I kiss him and whisper, “It really was a perfect good-bye wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. Let’s end it here rather than where we were with the arguments and recriminations.”
“I agree,” I smiled at him then and pressed another kiss to his lips. “Love you.”
“Always,” he whispered against my mouth.
The nurse bustled in with discharge papers in hand. “Alright, dears. Time to go.”
Hand-in-hand we responded in unison, “Yes, it is.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hailing from Washington, DC, Elene Sallinger first caught the writing bug in 2004 after writing and illustrating several stories for her then four-year-old daughter. Her writing career has encompassed two award-winning children's stories, a stint as a consumer-education advocate, as well as writing the Chrysalis Series, and the stand alone novel, Doing DC. Her debut novel, Awakening, won the New Writing Competition at the Festival of Romance 2011.
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